


Remember Last Summer? I Hoped to Forget

by Bedalk05



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Badass Jaskier, Blood and Violence, But Geralt still loves him, Canon-Typical Violence, Caring Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Jaskier | Dandelion Has a Past, Kinda Dark Jaskier, M/M, Mild Blood, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:26:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23383006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bedalk05/pseuds/Bedalk05
Summary: Jaskier might have a teensy weensy secretive past. And that past might have just caught up with him. Crap.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 36
Kudos: 634





	1. Don't Leave Me Hanging

**Author's Note:**

> Characters and plot points are loosely, LOOSELY based on the video game but you need no knowledge of it to follow. Essentially I've decided to make Jaskier a former member of a canonical gang and you can't stop me. Yes, this is a mixture of video game and TV show plot. No, the timeline doesn't make sense. Yes, you should still read it.

Jaskier cheerfully strummed on his lute and hummed a melody as he strolled beside his witcher. His witcher. Hmm. He liked the sound of that. It was still fairly new but Jaskier was revelling in this newest development in his and Geralt’s relationship. It turned out that if one is persistent enough, it is possible to wear someone down, even someone as stubborn as a monosyllabic witcher. 

“I can smell how smug you are right now,” Geralt rumbled from atop Roach. “It’s disgusting.” Allowing a self-satisfied smirk to cross his face Jaskier shrugged. 

“I have plenty to be smug about though darling. How could I keep it to myself?” Gazing up at the witcher Jaskier could feel his heart swell at the small smile playing on Geralt’s lips. Any small display of affection from the witcher was worth an entire hall of fans praising his ballads. 

Releasing a lovesick sigh, Jaskier raised his face to the warmth shining down on him and the witcher, content in the companionable silence. He really had grown soft since meeting his love. Sure, Geralt would probably protest that Jaskier must have been soft all his life and, well, what that lovable bastard didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. Besides, that part of his life was far behind him and Jaskier didn’t plan on returning to it anytime soon. Yes, what’s in the past is in the past. 

*******

_Okay,_ Jaskier sighed to himself. _I probably should have seen this coming._ Sure, the fact that things were going so well for him could’ve been a sign. Or the fact that they passed through Vizimia, a city Jaskier hadn’t entered since his betrayal, could’ve been a warning. But it was such a large city and it had been years ago! Jaskier couldn’t be blamed for being a bit optimistic, could he? 

Besides, what was he supposed to say to Geralt? “No, Geralt. Sorry we can’t enter the city where you need to follow up on a lead. Why? Oh, just so happens I may be a former member of the criminal organization you are currently tracking and that city is their stronghold. No big deal!” 

Releasing a frustrated sigh Jaskier shook his head. But really. Jaskier had completely rebranded himself! They shouldn’t have recognized him, let alone tracked him and ambushed him! Jaskier blamed Geralt. If the witcher hadn’t been so stubborn and commanded Jaskier not to come with him, then Jaskier wouldn’t have been alone in the Vizimian inn when the five men attacked. 

And really-five men? Jaskier didn’t know whether to be flattered that they thought they needed so many men or appalled at himself that he only took down three of them before being knocked out. Clearly he was out of practice, despite the midnight attacks he had been partaking in without his witcher’s knowledge. Spinning from where he now hung from a pair of chains Jaskier blew out a sigh and assessed his situation. 

Wrists locked to chains partly rusted through. Legs free. (What kind of fools were they?) The cold settling into his bones told Jaskier they were underground, supported by the dampness surrounding him Jaskier could make out in the dim candlelight. Scratch that: Jaskier knew where he was: the Sewers. Which gave him a sinking suspicion of who his capturer was but Jaskier would live in a sweet world of denial to avoid that conclusion. 

Stretching his enhanced senses, Jaskier paused with confusion. No warding and only two human guards? What kind of knumbskulls have him captured? Humming to himself Jaskier calculated his chances. He could certainly escape this place relatively easily; he’d fled under worse odds before. But now his curiosity was getting the best of him. What in the world could his kidnappers want? There’s no way they belong to Salamandra like he first thought; they’ve made too many amateur mistakes. Unless this is what they’ve become without Jaskier’s mentorship, which could certainly be the case. 

As he dangled there aimlessly Jaskier wondered what persona to put on. Is he Dandelion, the bloodthirsty mercenary who’s sweet name spelled a painful death? Or is he Jaskier, the hapless lascivious bard? 

“Ooo the little bard’s awake,” a sneering voice called as two men strolled into the cage. Their cocky attitude and the state of their armor and weaponry screamed mercenaries still wet behind their ears. No insignia on their plain black tunics placed them below even the most common mercenaries who belong to organized groups. No hidden weapons that Jaskier could tell, leaving one single dull weapon each. Jaskier would almost be insulted if he wasn’t so satisfied at how easy he would be able to escape at this rate. With that decided, Jaskier began his act. 

Widening his eyes into a mask of fear Jaskier stuttered, “If you wanted a private performance you needn’t have gone through all this trouble. I’ll even give it to you for free!” Inwardly, Jaskier patted himself on the back for how terrified he sounded and undoubtedly looked. It seemed that he’s worn this guise long enough to sound convincing even in such unexpected circumstances. 

The two men, Dummy 1 and Dummy 2, Jaskier silently named them, shifted their footing in what Jaskier guessed was supposed to look menacing before cracking their knuckles. “We’re gonna make you sing little birdy until you tell us everything you know about that witcher of yers,” Dummy 1 taunted. 

Fighting the urge to roll his eyes at their wannabee villany Jaskier began fighting against his chains. It would be a good opportunity to see how rusted they really were. “No please I don’t really do pain, that's more of Geralt’s thing,” Jaskier whimpered before getting slapped. Ears ringing, Jaskier gave himself a moment to be impressed at Dummy 2’s strength and began plotting how to kill him first before turning on the tearworks. 

“Gods I don’t even know where I am or who you are!” Jaskier sobbed. “What do you want from me? I’m just a bard!” Jaskier cheered silently as the two men took a step forward. Just one more inch and he would have his chance. 

“Quit the bullshit Dandelion,” a weathered voice rasped. In a flash Jaskier’s optimism drained like water through a sieve and he shivered from something beyond the cold damp of the sewer. Recalculating his odds and approach frantically, Jaskier turned to face the newcomer with a neutral mask. 

Standing at a steady 6 feet, the man’s pale skin had a sickly tinge to it, most likely attributed to the hours on end he spent underground spreading the growth of the drug fisstech. His bald head had the tattoo of a salamander upon it like others in his organization. (Jaskier’s own tattoo was hidden on his shoulder. His excuses for not taking off his shirt when Geralt and him would get heated had become increasingly more desperate.) Maybe this will be the kick he needed to finally confess to Geralt, though first he should probably try to escape. 

Turning his attention back to the man entering his cell, Jaskier exclaimed with false enthusiasm, "Gellert! Is that you? Long time no see! How have you been?” Jaskier had never resented the cloth covering the drug lord's mouth as much as this moment as the man stared back at him, expressionless. 

The last time he saw his former boss, Jaskier had just set fire to the newest batch of fisstech before throwing a dagger at the other man and fleeing. Jaskier couldn’t help but admire with twisted satisfaction the new scar adorning Bleinheim’s jaw. He had often dreamed of marking his “brother” with his dagger throughout his time under the other man’s wing. 

Jaskier had spent over a decade under the tutelage and control of Salamandra and its members. After being disinherited for sleeping with the wrong nobleman’s son, Jaskier was starving on the streets when Azar Javed took him under his wing. 

Jaskier supposed he should feel grateful for Javed; without him he would have been dead within the year. Then again, without him, Jaskier also wouldn’t have had to suffer under the torment of Javed’s experiments. Turns out a homeless kid no one is looking for is the perfect volunteer for illegal experimentation of mutagens stolen from a super secret group of mutants.

For awhile Jaskier didn’t know if he should count himself lucky or not for surviving Javed’s torture. Sure, he received enhanced senses, superior strength and speed, and rapid healing, but the road to earning those so called gifts was one of horror and pain beyond imagining. 

Can he be blamed for feeling drawn to the witcher when he was undercover playing at a tavern? Jaskier was just there to play badly enough to loosen people’s lips in order to find his target. And instead he found himself inexorably drawn to the lone figure brooding in the corner. He had heard of witchers and their abilities and often found it curious how similar they seemed to his own. But the one time he tried questioning Javed, Jaskier found himself the victim to a new and shiny form of experiment. He learned to keep his mouth shut after that. 

He didn’t know what compelled him to keep up the ruse of a bard and to pursue the witcher, but soon enough he found himself pretending to cower before a bunch of elves before receiving a beautiful lute far superior to the beaten one he was handed for this mission. As he stood holding the first gift he received in his life, all Jaskier could think about was how simple life would be if this was all he truly did. To be a bard and a witcher’s companion. ‘Tis a fantasy too dangerous to imagine. 

Yet imagine he did. After he parted ways with the witcher after their first adventure, Jaskier found himself losing his grip. Each time he ran into the witcher Jaskier found himself straying further and further away from Dandelion: the heartless mercenary and closer to Jaskier: the harmless bard. Each time he placed on the Jaskier persona it became more and more addicting and natural. 

Bereft of any sense of morality as Dandelion, Jaskier followed Geralt’s actions and choices with scholarly attention, trying to track how he made each decision and why. Trying to be moral was like slipping on a corset instead of a doublet. He could do it and could undoubtedly pull it off, but it took some time and trial and error. The incident with the djinn was definitely one riddled with error but Jaskier learned! And it didn’t stop him from ultimately getting what he wanted: his identity of Dandelion far behind him and Geralt in his arms. 

Of course, Geralt still didn’t really know about his other identity and was currently facing off with a family of drowners rather than lying in Jaskier’s arms but the point stands. Jaskier got what he wanted and he could get it again. Just as soon as he found a way out of this tiny predicament. 

Said predicament was currently glaring at Jaskier like the force of his stare would cause a dagger to fly into his eye. Sighing uproariously at the lack of response from his former boss Jaskier remarked airily, “Listen Gellert. I could apologize for what I did and promise to come back to the fold or I could tell you the truth and say it’s really in your best interests to let me free now. And if you do, I promise it’ll be the last you see of me!” Jaskier’s friendly grin had the faintest edge to it and Bleinheim sneered in response. 

“Why would I let you go when you’re right where I want you to be?” The older man inquired in a sickeningly friendly voice that sent a trickle of dread down Jaskier’s spine. The dagger he was now brandishing as he continued speaking looked worryingly familiar. “See, your little witcher scum is pointing his nose where it don’t belong,” he remarked mildly, observing the dagger in the dim light. “And rumor has it he’s taken a real shine to you.” 

Jaskier released a sudden huff of air and no other sound as the drug lord buried the dagger into Jaskier’s shoulder. Bleinheim’s breath smelt of rotting fish as he leaned into Jaskier’s space, twisting the blade into muscle. 

“So I’m going to play with you until he gets here and then slit your throat the moment he arrives. Then I’ll bury this present you gave me right into his blackened heart while the life still drains from your eyes.” With a chuckle that sounded like bones rattling on the floor, the drug lord released his hold on the dagger with a final twist before walking away. “Enjoy your stay, _little bard_ “ Bleinheim taunted. “I look forward to hearing you sing.” Turning back at him with a final leer he added, “And Azar Javed will be happy to see his prodigal son has returned.”

Still swinging from the force of Bleinheim’s final shove, Jaskier breathed through the pain lighting up his shoulder and the panic suddenly gripping his heart. Well. Things just got a bit more complicated.


	2. I Can Explain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier works to escape. But what will happen when he reunites with Geralt?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for blood and violence and Jaskier slightly disassociating. Rating ramped up for the final chapter
> 
> Update: Just made some edits that I missed on the first pass through. Any other mistakes are still my own.

Jaskier released a soft grunt as a new wound was added to his body. “Wow, you guys are really unimaginative,” Jaskier gasped out. A punch to his gut got him coughing out blood. Hmm. Slightly concerning. 

“Jus wait till the boss gets started with ya,” Dummy 1 smirked. Jaskier let out a sigh. Ignoring the screaming of his worn arm muscles still hanging from their chains, Jaskier conducted a cursory assessment of himself. Without sunlight it was hard to know how long he had been down here but considering the amount of wounds peppering his body it had been at least two days. No food or water had started to weaken him but he’s gone longer without. At this point he just wanted the suspense to end. If Azar Javed was really coming, Jaskier wanted to face him and get it over with. 

_Too bad I couldn’t say goodbye to Geralt,_ Jaskier thought ruefully. There was no way Javed was going to allow him to escape alive. And if the witcher was really foolish enough to fall for the trap they were setting, Jaskier would be damned if he let them touch a hair on his head. The sound of steel tipped boots strolling through the sewer pulled Jaskier out of his musings. Straightening as best as he could while being chained to a ceiling and bleeding from several areas, Jaskier steadied his breath. Time to face his maker. 

“My son, what a disappointment you have become,” a cultured voice remarked. Blinking past the blood dripping down his face Jaskier stared defiantly up at the man who turned him into the assassin he was. Hawkish features highlighted intelligent and discerning eyes and a scornful sneer. His bald head proudly displayed the insignia of his gang and the gold adorning his body made Jaskier want to roll his eyes. Ever the show off, the mage stood proud and ornate as he drew closer to his prodigy. Lifting Jaskier’s chin the mage turned his face side to side. 

“You’ve grown soft boy,” he observed. In response, Jaskier spat in his surrogate father’s face. Gaze darkening, Javed gripped Jaskier’s hair until he could feel strands pulling from his scalp and his eyes watering. Tsking slowly Javed shook his head. 

“Clearly you’ve forgotten your manners,” he sighed. 

Jaskier snarled, earning a tired eye roll in response. Stepping back smoothly, the mage clasped his hands behind his back. 

“It seems we must start your training over,” he stated gravely. Jaskier paled, stomach twisting with dread. He barely survived the mage’s experiments the first time. In his current state, he had no clue how long he could last. 

Desperately, Jaskier clung to his last memory of Geralt, a time that felt like ages ago now. They were lying curled up in each other’s arms leaving no space between them. Jaskier was gently playing with Geralt’s hair as he experimented with lines to a new ballad. Geralt had his eyes closed, a show of trust Jaskier never took lightly and hardly deserved.

As he gazed upon the witcher’s peaceful face, Jaskier realized that this was where he wanted to be forevermore; right here, beside the love of his life. It filled him with terror and elation equally; for the longest time Jaskier didn’t think he could feel love. He assumed it was a human trait Javed burned out of him, determining it useless to the greater cause. Yet as he tangled his fingers in Geralt’s hair and pressed his ear to hear the witcher’s steady heartbeat, Jaskier had no doubt that what he was feeling was love. And he swore to himself that no one would harm his love as long as he breathed. 

Taking a steady breath, Jaskier opened his eyes and locked gazes with Javed, eyes blazing with defiance. 

“When I get out of here, I’m going to kill you first. Slit your throat and watch you bleed out slowly on this rancid floor,” Jaskier informed him steadily. “And then I’m going to finish what I should have done before and burn your entire organization to the ground,” he finished with a bloody smile. 

Javed’s cool and collected mask slipped for a vital moment before smoothly falling back into place. A sadistic smirk slowly crossed the mage’s face and then with a wave of his hand and a whisper of elvish, Jaskier’s world was consumed by fire. 

*******

He didn’t know how long his torment lasted but he knew he passed out at some point. When Jaskier finally returned fully to consciousness, he dearly wished he hadn’t. Every molecule of his body felt like fire ants were dancing on them. His muscles spasmed uncontrollably, causing his body to writhe and seize like a puppet on a string. At this point, he had screamed himself raw and could only gasp for breath. 

Granted a short reprieve, Jaskier began thinking in overdrive. He needed to escape before Javed came back with more mutagens and potions. Testing his chains, Jaskier realized that one good thing came from his most recent bout of torture: his spasming caused the already rusted chains to weaken further. 

With Dummy 1 and Dummy 2 assuming that Jaskier was weak as a kitten and thus taking a break, Jaskier decided that this was his only chance. With a grunt, muscles screaming in protest, Jaskier channeled his mutated strength and tugged with all his might. Biting his lip to silence his scream of agony, Jaskier collapsed onto the earth and lay there gasping for several moments. 

Eyes closed, Jaskier pressed his forehead to the cool ground as he collected his breath and strength. After allowing himself a minute to recover, Jaskier curled his hands into fists and slowly raised his head to take in his surroundings. He needed to get his hands on a weapon, otherwise he was already fucked. 

Seeing nothing of value, Jaskier turned his gaze to the broken chains still attached to his wrists, digging bloody and angry marks into his skin. They would have to do. Biting his tongue to hold in his sounds of pain as he forced his aching body to stand, Jaskier took a determined breath. Time for some payback. 

*******

Dummy 1 and 2 were easy to take out. There was a reason they still wore no signs of Salamandra. Sneaking up on them and wrapping his chains around their necks was child’s play. In no time at all Jaskier laid their corpses on the ground, taking their crossbow and sword as a prize. They were dented and worn but better than nothing. 

Sending his senses further out, Jaskier turned right. The sewers were a nightmare of a labyrinth and many a man entered them without ever making his way out. Following his nose and ears, Jaskier arrived in Bleinheim’s main workstation in no time. 

Leaning around the corner, Jaskier aimed the crossbow and shot an arrow through the guard’s throat. With a savage grin Jaskier strolled through the chamber, took the torch off the wall, and tossed it on the latest stash of drugs. He stood over the flames for a silent moment, reveling in the sight before moving toward the molded desk in the corner. Jaskier felt under the bottom of the desk until he found the hidden compartment holding the recipe for fisstech. Predictable. Briskly, Jaskier crumpled it up and dropped it into the building flames before slipping out of the chamber hurriedly. 

In retrospect, starting a fire in an underground sewer may not have been the wisest idea but it was certainly satisfying. As he continued winding through the intricate pathways, Jaskier began hearing shouts and the clash of swords. Heart pounding with panic, Jaskier forced his failing body to move faster. There was only one person who could be making such a scene and Jaskier had to get to him before Javed did. 

Turning a final corner, Jaskier froze in the passageway. Geralt stood surrounded by the bodies of mercenaries and thieves, soaked in their blood and golden eyes blazing. In all his years chronicling his adventures, Jaskier had never seen the witcher look so savage and so beautiful. Forcing himself to ignore the inconvenient tugging of his groin at the sight, Jaskier breathed out his love’s name. 

Whirling toward him, brandishing his sword, Geralt froze, gaze rapidly taking in the state Jaskier was in before striding toward him. Sheathing his sword Geralt helplessly hovered his hands over Jaskier. He could only imagine the sight he made. Ignoring the multitude of burning wounds littering his body, Jaskier threw himself into the witcher’s arms. Closing his eyes, Jaskier breathed in the scent that was uniquely Geralt’s. Blood, horse, woods, and currently, a heavy coating of worry. 

“What have they done to you Jaskier?” Geralt asked. Jaskier’s heart broke at the agonized sound of the witcher’s voice, so he pulled away from Geralt reluctantly to give what he hoped passed as a reassuring smile. 

“I’ll be okay love,” he murmured, before standing straighter. Meeting Geralt’s eyes Jaskier took a determined breath. “There are things I’ve hidden from you and I swear I will explain and apologize if you choose to remain with me after all this is over,” he began. Ignoring the furrow of confusion marring Geralt's brow, Jaskier determinately moved on. “But right now I have some unfinished business and these people will use you to get to me.” 

Placing his palm over Geralt’s heart Jaskier pushed him gently away. “I need you to return to the surface and wait for me there,” he stated firmly, mouth pinched in a firm line. 

Shaking his head slowly Geralt grasped the hand currently over his heart and lifted it to his lips. “I thought I lost you,” he rumbled, breath ghosting over Jaskier’s fingers causing him to shiver with want. Gently kissing each knuckle as he cradled the bard’s manacled wrist Geralt looked at him, eyes screaming of defiance. “I refuse to lose you again.” 

Blowing out a defeated sigh Jaskier pressed his forehead against his lover’s sternum. “You stubborn witcher,” he muttered fondly. 

Gently clasping his hand over the back of Jaskier’s head, Geralt lightly brushed his fingers through his hair. Jaskier melted into the witcher’s touch and allowed himself this sacred moment. The pair of them stood there, soaking in the fact that they were both alive, but soon Geralt broke their silence. 

“Stay behind me at all times,” he rumbled firmly. 

Huffing out a laugh Jaskier pulled away from the witcher and disguised his wince at the movement with a smirk. “I was going to say the same to you,” he remarked before turning with a determined set of his shoulders. 

Raising his nose to the air and tilting his head, Jaskier stood silently until he latched onto Javed and Bleinheim. Perfect: they were together. Without further adieu, Jaskier began painfully walking toward the last remnants of his past life. 

“You’re in no condition to walk, let alone fight,” Geralt growled, worry tinging his words. 

Shaking his head Jaskier gritted out, “I’ve had worse; I’m just out of practice.” Jaskier could sense the multitude of questions running rampant through the witcher’s mind in the silence that ensued. Rather than try to explain himself, Jaskier plowed right ahead. “There will be two men: one dressed in gold and one in black. The one in gold is a powerful mage so we must attack him first. The second man is a coward and won’t be as much of a threat.” Gaze hardening Jaskier stated emotionlessly, “You can incapacitate them but leave the final stroke to me.” 

With that, Jaskier steadied his crossbow and turned the final corner. In a flash he shot two arrows, both hitting their marks. The scream of pain as the two men were pierced with arrows filled Jaskier with grim satisfaction. It would take more than one dull arrow to kill them though; they both had enhancements similar to Jaskier. 

With a roar, Geralt charged, dodging the magical attack sent toward him and sinking his sword into the mage. As he did so, Jaskier pulled out his pilfered sword and followed the witcher’s example, attacking Bleinheim with bloodthirsty enthusiasm. A manic expression crossed Jaskier’s face as he twisted his sword before the other man could react and watched Bleinheim writhe in agony. 

“How does it feel brother,” he taunted lightly with a tilt of his head. Jaskier forgot the rush he would get with a kill and felt his mind fill with static as he watched his victim spasm with glee. Spotting the dagger he threw at Bleinheim all that time ago, Jaskier picked it up with a ruthless smile. 

Faintly, he could hear his name but ignored it. There was no room for distractions when he was on a mission. With a smooth stroke he slit the druglord's throat, watching with satisfaction as blood began to soak the other man's clothes. It was hypnotizing. 

Suddenly, a giant hand grasped his shoulder. Jaskier spun with a snarl, brandishing his blood soaked weapon and dagger and found himself face to face with the witcher. Gerlat stood there, hands empty and open, with an unreadable expression crossing his face.

Slowly, the fog in Jaskier’s mind dissipated and he returned to his senses. Shame curdled like sour milk in Jaskier’s stomach. He hadn’t lost himself like that in years and he hoped Geralt would never witness him like that. Averting his gaze, afraid to see the disgust undoubtedly crossing the witcher’s face, Jaskier strode over to the dying mage. 

Crouching down to the prone man, Jaskier firmly drove any thought of the witcher from his mind and flipped the dagger in his hand thoughtfully. He gazed down at his tormenter for several moments, curling his lip at the pathetic desperation now crossing the man’s face. This was the man who tortured and twisted a homeless boy into a killing machine. And now look at him. 

Tracing his dagger down the mage’s jugular, Jaskier landed on Javed’s heart. Matching gazes with him Jaskier murmured, “I would say thanks for all you’ve done, but you raised me not to be a liar.” 

And with no further comment, Jaskier sunk his dagger into the mage’s chest and sat there still as a statue, watching the life flicker out of his eyes. Jaskier didn’t know how long he remained there, frozen, trying to wrap his mind around the fact that he was finally free. But eventually, he heard his name called. Not the name given to him by his tormentors but the name he created for himself. 

And like he woke from a spell, Jaskier blinked a few times before standing and turning to the witcher. He couldn’t quite decipher the expression crossing Geralt’s face and he didn’t have the energy to try. Instead he steadily met the witcher’s gaze. “I’m not who you think I am. If I were you, I would run while you can,” he stated firmly, before promptly passing out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be posting one more chapter shortly. I ramped up the rating to explicit for that chapter but you can read the first half of it without encountering anything explicit if that's not your thing. Comments and kudos bring me joy so feel free to leave one if you feel like it!


	3. I See You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier explains. How will Geralt take it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If smut's not your thing you can still read the first half of this chapter without encountering anything. I hope you enjoy!

Time passed in a haze of pain and fever dreams. Jaskier saw Javed and Bleinheim’s taunting faces as Geralt dangled from rusted chains. He saw Geralt and Yennefer, entangled together just as he and Geralt were only a few night ago. He saw his father and the look of revulsion on his face as he threw Jaskier out of the door. And with a sudden gasp, Jaskier blinked awake. 

Sluggishly Jaskier took in his surroundings. He was in a familiar looking inn, lying in a bed in his small clothes. The question was, how did he get there? As if in an answer, the bed suddenly shifted and Jaskier turned toward the movement. Heart filling with joy like he never felt before, Jaskier breathed out, “Geralt.” 

The expressionless face he received in return promptly shattered his hopeful heart. Right. Geralt probably saved him out of a sense of witcherly duty but there was no way he would ever remain with Jaskier after what he witnessed. In fact, Jaskier was slightly surprised the witcher hadn’t simply killed him. Swallowing dryly, Jaskier opened his mouth to speak. Before he could, a tankard was thrust in front of him. 

“Drink,” Geralt commanded softly. “You’re dehydrated.” Taking the tankard and eyeing it dubiously, Jaskier took a subtle sniff. Rolling his eyes Geralt rumbled, “I didn’t go through all the trouble to keep you alive just to poison you.” 

Wincing in embarrassment, Jaskier quickly took a sip only to widen his eyes in amazement. This couldn’t possibly be water; it tasted like it had been touched by the gods. Tilting the tankard, Jaskier began taking greedy gulps only to whine pathetically as it was pulled from his grasp. 

“You’ll make yourself sick if you drink so fast,” Geralt explained gruffly, before thrusting a bowl in front of the bard. “Eat,” he commanded. Shifting himself higher in bed, Jaskier took the bowl gently. 

“Not that I’m not enjoying this bossy side of you Geralt, but why are you helping me?” Jaskier inquired lightly. Taking a small sip of the broth, Jaskier’s eyes rolled back in his head from pleasure. He had no idea when he ate last and began downing it enthusiastically. Before he could take down the entire bowl however, Geralt snatched it from him, earning him a growl in response. 

Glaring at Geralt, Jaskier earned an unamused look back. Huffing out a breath, Geralt set the bowl aside before turning fully toward Jaskier. Gently, he raised Jaskier’s chin to look him in the eyes. Recalling the last time someone moved him in such a way, Jaskier found he couldn’t disguise his wince in time, causing Geralt to quickly let go of him. 

Aching from the loss, Jaskier bit his cheek to keep from whining. After the lies he has told, he hadn’t earned Geralt’s affection. The two men stared at each other in silence before Geralt shook his head. 

“I clearly don’t know who you are but unless I am the worst witcher to exist, I must believe that what you feel toward me is true. So I’ll listen to your explanation and decide what to do from there.”

Jaskier’s emotions ran rampant at Geralt’s words and he desperately tried to stifle the sense of hope consuming his mind. Perhaps he hadn’t lost Geralt yet. But who knows how he’ll react once he’s told the truth. Taking a fortifying breath, Jaskier began the ballad of Dandelion the assassin. 

*******

The two men sat in silence for what felt like hours to Jaskier. He had spilled the story that no other living being had heard before and now awaited judgement. Jaskier did his best to emphasize that he at no time meant to manipulate Geralt; that he truly wanted to be Jaskier the bard; but he couldn’t help but acknowledge that his story was pretty damning. Jaskier forced himself not to fidget. His body still ached and burned in too many places. Finally Geralt spoke. 

“So you’re saying that on all of the hunts you’ve accompanied me on, you could have helped me rather than get in my way?” Jaskier gaped at him incredulously. 

“I just revealed the fact that I was raised and trained to be an assassin, that I have powers stolen from Kaer Morhen, that I met you and remained by your side on false pretenses, and your response is that you’re surprised I didn’t help you in fights?!” 

Jaskier couldn’t believe this man. For years, _years_ Jaskier had been tormented by the secrets he held from the witcher and this was his response. Geralt shrugged awkwardly. 

“If you haven’t judged me for being the butcher of Blaviken and for my many other mistakes, then I don’t see why I can’t accept your past as well.” Jaskier stared at the guileless face before him, speechless, and just shook his head helplessly. 

“You astound me Geralt of Rivia,” he finally remarked, before tugging the witcher into an all-consuming kiss. Licking into him hungrily, Jaskier pressed closer. He was so scared he would lose this-he needed to feel every part of the witcher. Groaning lowly, Geralt kissed Jaskier with equal enthusiasm and desperation. Of course; he must have been terrified of losing Jaskier too. 

Scrabbling clumsily, Jaskier began attempting to rip off Geralt's clothes before a pair of hands stopped him. 

“You’re in no condition for lovemaking Jaskier,” Geralt rumbled. Growling, Jaskier tugged his hands out of Geralt’s grip. Channeling his hidden strength, Jaskier flipped Geralt on his back and straddled the witcher, preening at the look of surprise and lust crossing his face. Smirking down at him, Jaskier nipped at his lover’s lips. 

“You’ll find I’m full of surprises, love,” he remarked, before slowly stripping the witcher of his tunic. Groaning lustfully, Geralt squirmed until he rid himself of his trousers and ran his hands up Jaskier’s torso, causing gooseflesh to pepper his skin. Suddenly, Geralt paused his ministrations and with a furrow of his brow, Jaskier looked at where one hand hovered over his tattoo and another over a twisted scar. 

With a sheepish shrug Jaskier explained, “That’s why I never took my tunic off in front of you. I knew it would raise too many questions.” 

Geralt’s golden gaze softened and he gently claimed Jaskier’s lips, causing the former assassin to whimper and tangle his hands into Geralt’s gorgeous locks. Breaking away from the kiss Jaskier looked into the eyes that had featured in countless dreams of his. 

“Please Geralt, I need you to make love to me.” 

With a broken groan, Geralt reached down to their pack on the floor and retrieved a bottle of oil. Slicking his fingers up, Geralt reclaimed Jaskier’s lips as he gently pressed against his entrance. Ignoring the pains still flaring across his body, Jaskier pushed back against Geralt’s finger. He was desperate to replace the pain he had been feeling with the blinding pleasure only Geralt could provide. Nipping his lip in reprimand Geralt pulled away from the kiss. 

“You’re still injured,” he chastised. “Let me do the work.” 

His gaze darkening with lust, Jaskier nodded slowly and buried his face into the witcher’s neck, sucking at his pulse point to hear Geralt groan. Smiling against the witcher’s skin, Jaskier began moving to the other side of his lover’s neck and stuttered out a breath as one finger was replaced with two. Moaning wantonly, Jaskier fought against the urge to press against the intrusion. 

“Good boy,” Geralt murmured, kissing along Jaskier’s jaw. Jaskier hardly recognized himself as he released a desperate whimper. Chuckling darkly, Geralt claimed Jaskier’s lips hungrily as he inserted a third finger, stretching Jaskier methodically. 

“C’mon Geralt,” Jaskier breathed. “I can take it.” Pulling away from the bard again, Geralt looked at him with a frown. 

“You’re hurt enough. I refuse to add to your pain.” 

Shaking his head Jaskier kissed Geralt gently. “You would never hurt me love. But I need to feel you.” The whine Geralt released would feature in Jaskier’s fantasies for months to come. 

With a steady breath Geralt said firmly, “Go slow.” Nodding furtively, Jaskier lifted himself up before sliding down on the witcher’s cock with a high pitched whine. The punched out sound Geralt released made Jaskier smirk and quickly rise back up. He scowled as sword-calloused hands stopped him. 

“Slow,” Geralt commanded, before gently raising Jaskier and settling him back down. The two men released matching groans and Jaskier threw back his head as Geralt controlled his movements, up and down. He continued his snail’s pace and soon Jaskier was wiggling on Geralt’s cock impatiently. 

“I’m not made of glass,” Jaskier snarled. Gripping the witcher’s head tightly, Jaskier leaned down so they were nose to nose. “Fuck me so I’ll feel it.” Jaskier released a joyous shout as, with a growl, Geralt shoved Jaskier down on his cock and held him there, rapidly thrusting his hips up and down. 

“Yes!” Jaskier exclaimed. “That’s more like it! Oh fuck me witcher-fuck me till you’re all I feel.” Suddenly Jaskier found himself lying on the bed and arched his back with a desperate cry as Geralt thrust into him, nailing his prostate with inhuman accuracy.

Time melted away as all Jaskier could feel were Geralt’s hands and lips possessively tracing every part of him as the witcher’s cock pierced him in two. A steady mantra of “fuck” and “more” and “Geralt” spilled out of Jaskier’s mouth as if those were the only words he knew. 

Then, he writhed and released a wail as the witcher gripped his cock, stroking and twisting it until Jaskier fell over the edge. With lust-fogged eyes, Jaskier looked straight into the witcher’s eyes, almost completely black from want. Pulling the witcher down so they were nose to nose Jaskier murmured, “Let go Geralt,” and then claimed his lips. With a pitiful whine, Geralt licked into Jaskier’s mouth, pumping his hips a few more times, before spilling into the bard. 

Sagging after his release, Geralt gathered his limp lover and wrapped him protectively in his arms. Digging his nose into Jaskier’s neck, Geralt breathed in deeply and sighed with satisfaction. 

“Is my scent pleasing to you love?” Jaskier asked, humor and exhaustion peppering his words. 

Rumbling, Geralt nosed Jaskier deeply before responding. “Earlier still smelt like that godsforsaken sewer and those bastards you killed. Now you smell like me.” 

Humming, Jaskier kissed Geralt’s cheek softly. “Feel free to rub your scent on me as much as you like then,” he responded fondly. 

Pressing Geralt closer, Jaskier gently carded his fingers through his hair. He couldn’t help but compare this moment to the last time they were together, when Jaskier was still holding so much of himself from Geralt. But now his secrets were in the open and Geralt still amazingly wanted him. 

Holding Geralt tighter, Jaskier thanked whatever gods brought the witcher to him. Whether it was destiny or pure chance, Jaskier had found the love of his life, the one person who could actually understand and accept Jaskier’s dark past. And nothing and no one would take him away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! Any kudos and comments are greatly appreciated!

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! I plan to update this within the next week or two so stay tuned and feel free to leave a comment while you wait!


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